


Waste Not, Want Not

by DinobotGlitch



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Body Worship, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Somnophilia, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tactile, could be considered noncon until the end?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 07:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13993908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinobotGlitch/pseuds/DinobotGlitch
Summary: Springer doesn't ask for a lot - fuel, a safe place to recharge, the will to get up the next day... and for people to not recharge near him. His impulse control has never been his greatest asset.





	Waste Not, Want Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EatYourSparkOut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/gifts).



> I wasn't fully sure how to go about tagging this because it DOES contain elements of non-consensual relations, but doesn't exactly fit the bill? Hot Rod is NOT awake at the start, and does not give verbal confirmation of his agreement/desire until after overloading near the end of the fic. If that squicks you, please hit that back button now.

There were many reasons Springer was glad to have his own quarters, and about ninety-eight percent of those reasons were based on the fact that he didn’t like having other people recharging near him.

It wasn’t the engine hiccups. It wasn’t the fact that some people flopped and flailed, and talked through the whole night. It wasn’t because some people ran so hot that they made the room into a veritable furnace. It wasn’t even because he disliked people, because he very much _did_ like them.

It was just... sometimes, he liked them a little too much.

Springer didn’t know what it was, exactly, but there was no denying that there was something distinctly attractive about mechs in recharge - something that really, _really_ turned his engine over. They were so calm, so at peace, and open in a way that they could never be while awake. It drove him to a near frenzy with the desire to touch and kiss them. Sometimes, he wanted to do even more… and there lay the crux of the problem.

If it were just one person in particular - or even a couple of people - he would have had no problem talking to them and explaining his needs. He wasn’t a shy mech! But when it was everyone from his best friend to mechs like _Prowl_ … Yeah, no, he wasn’t shaking that electrowasp’s nest.

So when Springer finally entered his quarters after a long mission and found that not only was someone there waiting, but that that someone was Hot Rod - deep asleep _his_ armchair - he found himself understandably bothered. Not just any old bothered either - oh, no - but the most embarrassing, ‘flustered beyond belief’ kind of bothered imaginable. The kind that made him honestly wish he was anywhere but here. Give him a gun and pop him back on the front line, make him run laps around the hub until his stabilizers gave out, give him _desk duty_ , for frag’s sake! _Anything_ but this.

Springer had to stifle a groan as he gazed upon the flame colored wonder sprawled enticingly before him. Heat pooled behind his codpiece and licked up his spinal struts almost immediately, and he had to brace himself on the desk by the door to keep himself from acting on his first instinct to get closer to the recharging mech. 

He’d been doing so well, and this wasn’t fair- it wasn’t _fair_ -!

The green mech couldn’t tear his optics away from the sight of Hot Rod - blissfully unaware of the world at large - but he could at least keep his head about him. Even with the speedster’s legs spread, and his arms draped over either side of the chair like a fragging buffet for him to devour, Springer could at least keep his decency.

It took every bit of self control he had to get his vocalizer running instead of his legs, but Springer managed it somehow.

“Hot Rod,” he prompted cautiously, keeping his voice low. It wasn’t at conversational volume, nor was it quite a whisper- he didn’t want to startle the mech unnecessarily, after all. “Hot Rod, wake up.”

There was no response aside from a slight rattling of vents, and Springer steeled himself to move closer. Hot Rod was attractive on a normal day, but seeing the normally hyperactive mech calmed down to this mellow, tranquil resting state was doing a number on him. 

Primus…

He knelt at the mech’s side, his optics roaming the extravagant paint job voraciously once more, before landing on serene faceplates. Hot Rod looked so… content.

Springer didn’t even realize what he was doing until his hand was resting softly on the smaller Autobot’s cheek. But it was just a touch… 

At least, that was what he told himself as he stroked his thumb over Hot Rod’s smooth features - what he insisted as he rubbed the base of an audio receptor with his index and middle fingers. He heard his own fans stutter and click to a higher setting as that same hand moved down and rubbed gently over sensitive neck cables before he could think better of it. 

With a trembling vent he put his hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder and tried waking him again.

“Hot Rod, c’mon. You shouldn’t even be sneaking into an officer’s quarters…”

Hot Rod’s initial response was to smile faintly - drawing effortless attention to his mouth - though he seemed not to rouse at all at the words or contact. Perhaps even when unconscious, he found amusement in the fact that he’d broken at least half a dozen rules? 

Whatever the case, that smile made Springer’s spark jerk sharply in its casing, and he hated himself a little for it. 

They had kissed a couple of times before, in little ‘heat of the moment’ gestures under intense stress, but that feeling had nothing on what he was presently enduring. He felt the ache of his want with his whole being, and couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a tiny little kiss that was at once soft and wild. He felt guilty as hell for it, but Hot Rod had such nice, supple lips, and they were sure making him feel some type of way.

They opened up under his a second later, and Hot Rod sighed contentedly into his mouth. Springer groaned in mixed agony and lust. Slaggit all, he had no self-control, did he? He leaned on the arm of the chair and tilted Hot Rod’s chin up to meet him. It was just one kiss. He could stop after one kiss.

It was soft and gentle, but laced with his hunger. He wanted to devour him - to ravish and wear out the little upstart like no one else had ever managed. It was stupid how far his peculiar preferences pushed him! They were hard to deny, however, when he was already getting pings to open his codpiece and free from its prison the spike which would slot so nicely between Hot Rod’s shapely thighs.

“Frag, you’re going to be the death of me after all, aren’t you?” he asked the flame colored mech, once he finally convinced himself to pull back again.

Predictably, Hot Rod didn’t answer, and slowly, Springer’s fingers trailed over kiss-bruised dermas. The components moved with his touch - seeking another that he refused to give, and pouting when his hand moved away to trace a warm cheek and jaw instead. The expressiveness was almost too cute to resist, but thankfully there was something else to keep the triple-changer occupied. 

Hot Rod really was quite lovely, all sleek curves and strong limbs… he could touch the mech all over - map him out completely - and still not be satisfied that he had touched him enough.

He’d just never had the opportunity to try before now.

Springer bit his derma, hesitating.

He shouldn’t… He knew he shouldn’t. But Primus as his witness, he _wanted_ to.

It was with trembling fingers that he finally traced the angle of Hot Rod’s jaw up to his audio receptor again. The smooth, softly rounded hub was surprisingly sensitive - and Hot Rod leaned into the gentlest kneading with an audible hum of pleasure. Springer was content with that, at least for now.

It wasn’t to last, of course. Before long, he was compelled to move his touch down to the edge of the beautiful crimson helm, and to stroke the sensitive seams joining it to the rest of his friend’s cranial unit. When the speedster’s chin tilted up in offering, he slid his palm down over the vulnerable throat.

For a moment, Springer just knelt there. He held the proffered throat tenderly, solely to feel the life within pulse warmly against his palm. His fellow Wreckers never allowed this kind of dangerous touch, and it made the act doubly enticing when a soft moan fell from Hot Rod’s derma. The mech shifted to push up into the pressure without an ounce of reservation.

Not willing to admit that his self-restraint was so weak as to be virtually gone already, Springer made a point of taking his sweet time in trailing his fingers down the flame pattern which adorned the smooth chest with ardent attention to detail. He admired the way Hot Rod arched and sighed as he did so, shifting involuntarily to prolong the contact of every brush against a transformation seam. 

And all the while, he resolutely ignored the incessant, urgent pings from his interface array.

Guilt was not so easy to ignore, and it was rearing its head at last to outweigh desire. It was that more than anything else which drove him to address the other mech once again.

“Hot Rod, c’mon. You’d be doin’ me a real solid if you woke up right now…” he pleaded, only to be met with a sleepy murmur, and then the sight of Hot Rod biting his derma - presumably in response to Springer’s fingers teasing under the edge of his hood. Springer felt as though that definitely should have woken him, but his vitals had hardly changed aside from a minute increase in temperature.

Shaking him only earned a pout and a whine. Hands finally came up to push at his own, but only long enough to break his grasp. The second he let go, Hot Rod settled back down with a cute little rumble of his engine that almost made up for how fragging sexy he was.

Springer found himself biting his lip in turn- trembling just a little as he let Hot Rod relax once more. Maybe, he thought somewhat desperately, he could just go recharge in the hangars. There weren’t any ships scheduled to leave port, so he wouldn’t risk accidentally being taken away from his assigned post. It wouldn’t hurt anything. He could just come back in the morning, or ping Hot Rod with some flimsy excuse or other as to why he’d never come to his quarters.

In the end, Springer was too weak to do any of that. 

His fingers returned to Hot Rod’s torso to resume their exploration, and all too soon, he had touched everything within reach. Chest to hips, shoulders to fingertips - it all came under examination and was subjected to thorough worship. 

Could he leave it at that? No, probably not… Springer clicked indecisively to himself, then huffed and moved around to kneel between Hot Rod’s spread thighs. The way the smaller mech was spread out was almost like an offering - and one which the triple-changer could no longer find the willpower to refuse. Hot Rod’s perfectly curved hips fit so well in his hands, as did his thighs when Springer’s grip slid down to test them as well…

How could he resist pushing his luck just a little bit more? The way that the smaller mech shivered deliciously in response to his thumbs sliding up the inside seams and right to the burning codpiece at their apex, especially, was becoming a detriment to his higher cognitive processes.

The panelling there popped open abruptly, shocking Springer. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, but he found himself staring in both lust and mortification at the supple valve, and short but proudly jutting spike which had become exposed to the relative chill of his room. Oral fluids welled up on his glossa and forced him to swallow convulsively as he studied the display. He hadn’t even been thinking about what he might be doing to Hot Rod, not really- and even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have expected mere touch to drive him to this extreme!

Speaking of extremes… Was this some kind of test? Because if so, Springer was about to fail it epically!

Guilt warred with desire as he curled his fingers around Hot Rod’s thighs and carefully eased them up and apart, but it was becoming easier to ignore as hunger got the better of him. This close, he could smell the hot lubricant clinging to Hot Rod’s valve lips as a rich, heavy, musky perfume. It was the scent of a mech that would beg for release if they were awake to do so.

A quick glance confirmed that Hot Rod was not, and it was almost a shame. It was also enough to bolster his confidence; it gave him that last little push he needed to surrender to the rare impulse to do something genuinely stupid.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Springer leaned down and swiped his glossa over the array - from the bottom of the valve lips all the way to the tip of Hot Rod’s spike in one slow, smooth stroke. He pulled back to admire the glistening oral fluids for a moment, and Hot Rod moaned softly, hips angling instinctively for more. The taste of him was rich; it was somewhat spicy, but still pleasing. It made Springer ravenous.

‘Gods…’

With a last glance to make sure the speedster was still in recharge, Springer decided that if he was going to go this far, he may as well go full bore. He was damned either way.

He wrapped his derma around Hot Rod’s spike and took the whole thing slowly into his mouth - slicking it up with his glossa on the way. There was an undeniable pleasure in the involuntary bucking of the speedster’s hips, one that Springer reveled in. He paused briefly at the base - despite his body’s urging to take as much as he could get, as quick as he could get it - to look up at Hot Rod reverently. Then he took a deep, calming breath, offlined his optics, and began bobbing his helm over the rigid length.

Hot Rod moaned and sought purchase to push up into his mouth almost immediately. Springer let him; his hands became footholds for the mech to push against, his mouth a sheath for the stout spike to fill, and it felt so right that he forgot for a moment that he wasn’t supposed to be doing this. He especially wasn’t supposed to be _enjoying _it. But feeling the weight of a spike in his mouth was blissful- euphoric, even. How could he possibly do anything else?__

__Hot Rod knew what to do with those hips, too. He rolled them languidly in time with Springer’s ministrations, and each soft vocalization was _sinful_. Primus, he was so hot… _ _

__Springer groaned as heat pooled in his own array, urging him to touch it though he had no hands free to do so. The torture was its own pleasure though, just another layer in the all-encompassing experience that Hot Rod had become._ _

__His sight was filled with the warm tones of the speedster’s paint, and his audios filled with the sound of a staticky vocalizer lost in ever-climbing pleasure. The texture of sturdy but freshly polished pedes weighed heavily in his hands, and the ridged, throbbing length of the spike in his mouth tantalized._ _

__And the _scent_ of him… There were no words for the haze that settled over Springer’s mind and body; it was bewitching, ensnaring him in a magic he was powerless to fight._ _

__He quickly grew bored of simply sucking on the spike. How could he be content with this, when there was still so much _more_ within reach? Flicking the tip of his glossa against the fluid duct - and relishing in the startled jerk of Hot Rod’s hips - was much more his speed, as was swallowing around the very tip of the spike to savor the feeling as hips ground against his lips with increasing urgency. _ _

__Really, his options spanned from horizon to horizon. He shouldn't be limiting himself, should he?_ _

__Springer was so into it that he barely noticed the growing fluctuations in Hot Rod’s field; his whole world was centered on the heat pouring from Hot Rod’s vents, and the building crackle of charge which tingled against his glossa and tickled his throat with the unspoken promise of an impending release. Any sounds that might have escaped him went completely unnoticed._ _

__He didn’t even react to his own codpiece retracting to free his spike. Hardly a thought was spared for it; it hung heavy and neglected between taut thighs to leak the proof of his own arousal on the brushed metal floor below him. Just a touch would surely send him over, but he couldn’t deny Hot Rod the purchase his hands offered. Not now- not when he was so close that Springer could literally taste it._ _

__Only the hoarse whimper of his name was enough to shock Springer out of his daze, but there was no time to react before two hands curled in desperation over his helmet, and pushed him fully down on the spike he had been savoring. It was no wonder where the sudden urgency had come from; almost instantly, hot, sticky transfluid flooded his mouth in time to the hard throbbing of Hot Rod’s spike, his field - undoubtedly, his very sparkbeat._ _

__And speaking of Hot Rod…_ _

__Springer couldn’t quite bring himself to online his optics as he swallowed reflexively. No amount of bravado would be enough to convince him to look a mech in the optic after being caught sucking them off while they recharged, and _definitely_ not while his mouth was still full of their spike and load!_ _

__He had to do it eventually- there was no two ways about that. He just… needed a minute to gather himself first._ _

__The ache of his own severely neglected spike was damning._ _

__“Springer?”_ _

__Hot Rod’s voice was still rough - staticky from both electrical discharge and an abrupt boot-up sequence. Springer heard him clear it a couple of times - time which he used to finally let the spent spike fall from his lips so he could wipe away the residual evidence from his mouth and chin. He hadn’t even realized he’d been drooling a little bit, but there sure was a mess, and not all of it was transfluid. How embarrassing…_ _

__“Uh.” He shifted back just a little, just enough to carefully set Hot Rod’s pedes back on the ground and use his hands to cover his still raging erection sheepishly. ‘Embarrassing’ wasn’t even beginning to cover this situation, actually! It took every ounce of Springer’s will to finally look up and meet Hot Rod’s inscrutable gaze. “I can… I can explain.”_ _

__There was a pause - it felt like an eternity. Then, Hot Rod gestured a little weakly to the space between them and - rather breathlessly - asked, “Is this- does this happen often? With you?”_ _

__“Not, uh. No. I usually don’t… Look- okay, it might be a long explanation but I can start with the apology-”_ _

__“For a blowjob like _that_? Are you kidding me?”_ _

__“... What?”_ _

__“You literally just-” Hot Rod made an indecipherable motion that ended with a firm gesture toward his open array, “-sucked my spike. For no reason other than - I’m assuming - because you just really wanted to. I’ve been trying to get you to go down on me since the day we met, and you finally fraggin’ _did_ it. Why should you apologize for anything?”_ _

__“Uh…”_ _

__“Aside from taking so long to _get_ to it, I guess. And maybe you could have asked me first, so I could enjoy the whole thing, not just the tail end of it…”_ _

__Springer stared at him for a long moment. Maybe Hot Rod had already murdered him, and his processor was just building one last wonderful fantasy while it shut down for good?_ _

__“The… the ‘not asking first’ thing is kinda what I was referring to? I don’t usually, uh. I’m not normally like this, and I know I overstepped, but please don’t try to confuse me any further? Just- actually, can you close your panel, please? It’s making it really hard to concentrate.”_ _

__“ _You’re_ the one that opened it,” Hot Rod pointed out, sounding almost offended._ _

__“I-” Springer frowned, momentarily caught off-guard by the flat statement. “Well- yeah, but- hhhh… Please?”_ _

__“Alright, alright. I just thought you might appreciate the view. Kinda hard to see it from how close you were before ‘n’ all.” The look Hot Rod gave him then was very pointed, and Springer bit his derma as a fresh wave of embarrassment and shame washed over him._ _

__“I know,” he mumbled, “and I’m sorry. But I swear I have a legitimate explanation.”_ _

__“For sucking me off while I recharge?”_ _

__“… Yes.”_ _

__Hot Rod didn’t look entirely convinced, but he still responded with an indulgent, “Mm,” before sweeping his gaze over the mech kneeling in front of him._ _

__Springer balked under it, but he didn’t miss how Hot Rod’s gaze lingered on his hands all the same. They were still covering his rebellious spike from view- for all the good it did. It just- it was refusing to depressurize! No matter how upset he was at it for being difficult..._ _

__He just needed to explain himself quickly before things got any worse, and then hopefully Hot Rod would leave and he could take his shameful lust in hand. He could deal with it before someone inevitably came to cart him off to the brig for assault…_ _

__Almost too casually, Hot Rod said, “Maybe you’d have a looser glossa if you weren’t so preoccupied with your spike, huh? I could return the favor. It’s been a while since I played with someone as big as you.”_ _

__And there went another sliver of his already dwindling processing power, stalled on the thought of Hot Rod’s full lips wrapped around his aching length._ _

__“You- _what_?”_ _

__Hot Rod gave him a bored look, as if he thought Springer was being intentionally slow._ _

__“You heard me. Since when are you this easy to fluster?”_ _

__“I’m not-”_ _

__Hot Rod abruptly shimmied off the chair and pushed Springer back til he fell gracelessly onto his aft. His spike was hastily released so he could catch himself before he landed on his back, and it bobbed merrily._ _

__Hot Rod’s gaze locked onto it hungrily._ _

__“It’s only fair, you know? You suck my spike, I suck yours. Plus, it’s kind of flattering that you’re this worked up… Anyone else woulda gone soft by now, but you’re still stiffer than an I-beam.”_ _

__“Hot Rod…” Springer whined gently, genuinely distressed but trying to hide it still. He would take any modicum of control that he could at this point!_ _

__“Hmm?” A hand slid up his thigh, and he groaned in regret as he pushed it back before it could reach its target._ _

__“C’mon, don’t- aren’t you mad?” he tried. Anything to get the conversation back on track and out of this strange alternate universe it seemed to have fallen into._ _

__No such luck, it seemed, because Hot Rod just shrugged and took to kneading his knee joint instead._ _

__“About a blowjob? Not really. Confused, on the other hand? Absolutely. But not so much that I’m gonna turn down this kind of opportunity.”_ _

__How was he supposed to respond to that? Springer didn’t know, and that single moment of weakness and desperation to clear the air was enough for him to blurt out, “You’re super hot when you recharge.”_ _

__It was the most barebones, half-assed, lazy explanation for everything Hot Rod made him feel, but he couldn’t just let this get glossed over. He needed Hot Rod to know that he had a problem - he should have tried harder to wake him, should have just left the room, should have- should have-_ _

__“It was wrong of me! I shouldn’t have let it come to this and-”_ _

__To his utter shock, the mech just laughed._ _

__“Hey- hey, no, it’s cool! Like, I wish you had told me beforehand so that we could avoid all this messy conversation, but, Springer, I’m totally cool with you going down on me whenever, wherever. I thought you were just playing coy before.”_ _

__He what?_ _

__“You… thought I was stringing you along?”_ _

__“Mm. Sure felt like it sometimes. But honestly, this is how I was hoping this whole evening would go down, though with a little more hands-on action, if you get my drift_ _

__Springer knew he was gaping._ _

__I’ve been here for almost two cycles waiting for you to come home so I could seduce you. Did Arcee not tell you to meet me?”_ _

__“No, she- she didn’t say anything. I didn’t even see her. And I thought you two were-”_ _

__Hot Rod waved a hand dismissively._ _

__“Oh, we are, but it’s just fun. She’s got a conjunx and everything, you know?”_ _

__“Oh.”_ _

__Springer was no less confused, but at least his raging erection was finally starting to abate; now maybe he could think clearly. He was turned on by people in recharge, but thankfully, massively perplexing situations had the exact opposite effect._ _

__Now if only he could cure the befuddlement, too…_ _

__“So… we good?” Hot Rod ventured after a moment of silence. “I’ve got some questions, but I’m cool with this kink of yours, or whatever it is, and I’m not looking to stir up trouble if you really didn’t mean anything bad by it. Okay?”_ _

__“Shouldn’t’ve done it…”_ _

__“Well, maybe not? But it’s not the end of the world. If you wanna make it up to me, though…”_ _

__Hot Rod trailed off, and Springer latched onto it eagerly._ _

__“How?”_ _

__“Let me stay the cycle? We can talk it over, cuddle a little… See where the night leads us?” Hot Rod’s hand moved up his thigh again - softly suggestive - and at the same time he leaned over to bump his helm against Springer’s. “I’ve got some other components that could use a bit of attention, too, if all goes well.”_ _

__Well, he may as well own it, right?_ _

__“I think- I think we could work something out?”_ _

__“Great! First things first - a snack. I was not prepared at all for being woken up this way, and I’m feeling pretty fraggin’ depleted. Then we can move on to you explaining this fetish to me so I know exactly what I’m signing up for. It _sounds_ like something that could be a really fun way to spice up any ‘facing we do, but I need to know how it works first. Then…”_ _

__Hot Rod got up and started chattering away while he dug out some fuel and goodies from his subspace, and Springer wondered again if he had actually died and returned to the Well. It seemed the only logical explanation, but there was no denying the very real and very flirtatious push of a field against his own every time he and Hot Rod were close enough, or the mischievous glint of those beautiful optics as their owner worked out how to best utilize this newfound weakness against him…_ _

__In absolute fairness, Hot Rod using this to his advantage could very well be its own punishment; he had the fast growing suspicion - the longer they talked - that his spike would never again know peace if Hot Rod were to get his way._ _

__That was hardly the worst way to spend eternity though._ _


End file.
